The Wicked Waif

by Lancaster, Mary

  “I’m not mad enough to land at a port,” Alban said.

  “We have to,” Smith insisted. “I have brandy and cotton garments to deliver.”

  “Then we can do that in daylight after your more nefarious dealings.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Smith said with dignity.

  Alban shrugged. “Please yourself. But you’ll forgive me saying you don’t look in much condition to get yourself to any…meeting.” He called over his shoulder. “Lower the long boat!”

  “Aye, sir,” came the instant response.

  “While you’re gone, I can deliver these two.” Alban offered, nodding his head at Dove and Tillie, who were doing their best to look chastened as they huddled together for warmth against the ship’s rail.

  “They only want the girl,” Smith snapped.

  “Well, Doverton can be their headache, not ours,” Alban said carelessly. “Where are the Dawlishes?”

  “The Harbor Inn in Larne,” Smith said reluctantly.

  But Tillie thought he was glad to have that task taken off his hands. He didn’t truly want to hand her over to the family who had harmed her already, though he was content enough for someone else to do the dirty work.

  Alban nodded. “Off you go then!” he encouraged.

  Smith lurched along the deck and paused, pressing trembling hands to his temples as if in some futile effort to stop the pain.

  “Damn it, man,” Alban said. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. I’ll come with you. Where are we going?”

  Smith stared at him, made one more effort to climb over the rail to the boat, and then fell back against Alban. With a curse, he lowered his voice and began to speak rapidly.

  “People ashore, sir!” came the shout from one of the men.

  Tillie glanced toward land, knowing the appearance of people with local accents might give Alban’s game away. Lights bobbed along the rocks, illuminating a few indistinct figures.

  Alban appeared at Dove’s other side, raising a glass to his eye. He made no comment about what he saw, merely passed the glass to Dove.

  She heard his intake of breath.

  “That’s Dawlish,” he said, causing her stomach to twist unpleasantly.

  Alban gazed at him as he took back the glass. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am,”

  The eyes of the two men met. Dove’s fingers curled around hers with a squeeze at once warning and comforting, and she understood suddenly that whoever it was he’d seen on the coast, it was not her uncle.

  “Let us go, Captain,” she pleaded.

  “Land us back at Larne and we can easily take another ship back to England,” Dove suggested.

  “It isn’t up to me, sadly,” Alban said without obvious feeling. “Captain Smith has chartered the ship and crew. We’ll take you with us, kill two birds with one stone.”

  And so, Tillie found herself climbing down into the longboat, curious and eager. Although it was far too cold to be comfortable, at least the snow had stopped falling and the sky seemed to have lightened a little, which probably helped maintain the fiction that it was some twenty hours later than it actually was.

  “You look ill, sir,” Tillie told Captain Smith with perfect truth.

  “I am ill,” he snapped, and clutched his clearly aching head. “I never faint, and I never sleep around the clock like that.”

  “Captain Alban has a doctor on board,” Tillie said helpfully.

  “I’ve seen him,” Smith said, grimacing. “He told me it was something I ate and it would pass in a day or so.”

  “At least you will be well in a day,” Tillie pointed out with a sniff. “I shall probably be married to my vile cousin, thanks largely to you. And God knows what will happen to Dove. They will probably kill him.”

  Smith smiled sourly. “My money’s on Doverton.”

  Tillie smiled brightly. “Truly? Then perhaps there is hope for us.”

  “What of your hope, Smith?” Dove murmured.

  Alban glanced at him, and Tillie had the idea that he wasn’t best pleased.

  Smith merely grimaced and held his head. “I shall undoubtedly go to hell. But my family will be provided for.”

  “Do you think so?” Dove asked in tones of deep interest. “In my experience, children prefer to have a father, a woman her husband. Besides that, what is mere provision?”

  Smith wrenched his gaze free, “I do not intend to die just yet.”

  Dove shrugged. “Not sure it’s your intentions that matter here. What if the people you are here to meet kill you once you have passed on your messages? What if the British have found out and are waiting for you? You’ll die a traitor. Forgive me, but how will that help your wife and family?”

  “I’m not a traitor!” Smith burst out. “This nonsense will achieve nothing. Don’t you see that? The Royal Navy has Elba surrounded. Bonaparte’s going nowhere, whatever plots or conspiracies are set in motion.”

  Dove gazed at him. “And if someone else’s father, someone else’s husband, dies because of the plot you have facilitated, is that nothing, too?”

  “There is a time to look after one’s own,” Smith said hoarsely, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

  “But you’re not,” Dove said.

  Smith turned once more and stared at him.

  Alban stirred. “As it stands, you have committed no crime.” It seems he had switched from his own plan to extract the information from Smith to Dove’s, which might yet redeem him.

  It was one of Dove’s strengths, Tillie realized, winning men around who had gone down a wrong path, because he still saw the good in them. It was what he had done with Captain Blackshaw, and what he was trying to do now with Smith.

  Alban said, “You have received information which it is your duty to pass on to the relevant authorities.”

  Smith swallowed and closed his eyes. “I gave my word. And Dawlish knows.”

  “Have you considered how Dawlish knows?” Dove said dryly. “Whatever, you may safely leave the Dawlishes to us. For the rest…give the messages to me and tell Alban exactly where you are meant to meet your…conspirators.”

  “You have until we reach shore,” Alban added. “Which is a minute or so.”

  Poor Smith was in no state to think clearly. Which, of course, had been Alban’s aim in drugging him and tricking him into revealing the meeting place when he was unable to find it on his own. It might still come to that. For the moment, he seemed unaware that Alban and Dove were allies.

  Two of Alban’s men jumped out and waded through the sea to the beach, hauling the boat aground. Unsteadily, Smith rose and climbed over the side with the help of one of the seamen. It seemed Dove had lost.

  But they still had Alban’s plan. And whoever was waiting ashore surely had to be friends when Alban had been inveigled into bringing herself and Dove.

  Dove climbed over the side and reached for her. She went willingly, secretly excited to be in his arms as he splashed ashore and set her on the sand. From there, a path wound up the side of the cliff to a road of some kind, for Tillie was sure she could make out the shape of two carriages at the top. Several people, with lanterns, seemed to be making their way down the path to the beach.

  Abruptly, Smith halted in his tracks and recited a string of numbers.

  “Thank you,” Alban said mildly.

  “For what?” Tillie asked, bewildered.

  “I think he’s just given him the coordinates of the meeting place,” Dove said.

  Tillie smiled proudly. So, Dove had won after all.

  “And some names?” Alban prompted.

  “I have no names. Only codes. They’re all in here.” And Smith took a document from inside his coat and slapped it against Dove’s chest. “I’ve had enough. I can’t do it.”

  “Good man,” Dove said, clapping him on the back. “And look, here’s just the man we need. Colonel Fredericks.”

  “Unexpected pleasure,” said an elderly gentleman with a mil
itary moustache, marching across the sand with a trail of people behind him.

  Tillie’s mouth fell open.

  “That’s not Dawlish,” Smith said, frowning. “None of them are Dawlish! It’s the vicar!” He glared at Colonel Fredericks as if the whole business had been his fault. “If you have no objection, I will find my own passage home. Perhaps you’d be so good as to point me in the direction of Larne.”

  Fredericks flapped his hand toward the sea. “Somewhere over there.”

  Smith’s eyes widened impossibly.

  “We’re about five miles south of Whalen,” Fredericks said.

  Smith tightened his lips into a harsh line as he realized, no doubt, how thoroughly he had been tricked. Tillie understood how he felt, for behind Colonel Fredericks and Mr. Grant trailed the vicar’s wife and James the footman, followed by another two men she couldn’t yet see clearly.

  “Oh, James, I am so sorry,” Tillie said contritely. “I mistook the carriage and must have got you into all sorts of trouble! Kate, Mr. Grant, it was all my fault, please forgive him—and me, if you possibly could!”

  “Just glad to see you safe, miss,” James muttered. Then he grinned. “Besides, it was worth it to see the vicar driving a cab hell for leather up the Whalen road.”

  Tillie let out a choke of laughter. Dove was grinning openly while Mr. Grant merely smiled beatifically.

  Kate took her husband’s arm. “He is a man of many talents. We followed your tracks through the mud and snow to Whalen, and there we met Colonel Fredericks, who was about to chase along the coast after The Albatross.”

  “Then Captain Alban and Colonel Fredericks had planned this between them?” Tillie exclaimed. She rounded on Dove. “Did you know this?”

  Dove threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Acquit me! I knew only what Alban told both of us. But when I looked through the glass and saw the Grants clambering down the cliff, I wanted an excuse to get you to them without alerting Captain Smith to Alban’s plans.”

  “Well, I’m not sure your plans amount to much,” Smith said bitterly. “You have the information, but you’ll never alert the authorities in Ireland in time. If I don’t appear tonight, they’ll vanish by tomorrow.”

  Then it’s a good thing it’s still the night before,” Dove said cheerfully.

  Smith scowled. “You make no sense.”

  “You slept two hours, not twenty,” Alban said. “I’m afraid I drugged you. Well, ladies and gentleman, I believe I have information to carry to Ireland, so I will bid you goodnight.”

  “Wait a minute,” someone said as Alban turned away. “Is this the Alban fellow or the damned army officer?”

  Alban swung back. “Alban Lamont, sir,” he said coldly. “I don’t believe I have the honor of your acquaintance.” His tone left little doubt as to what he thought of such honor.

  “Courtney,” said the old gentleman. “Alfred Courtney.”

  Tillie’s jaw dropped again. “Oh dear,” she said faintly.

  Dove glanced at her with a quick frown of surprise.

  And then, adding to her growing sense of unreality, Mr. Hatton stepped into the light. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get the chance to warn you that Sir Alfred was coming…”

  “There was no need, Mr. Hatton,” Tillie said in a cold, disdainful voice she was quite proud of. “Of course, I am always pleased to see you, but I will not be meeting Sir Alfred. Did you really come in the cab, Mrs. Grant? Is there room for Dove and me?”

  “I’m sure we can squash in somehow,” Kate said with a flickering glance at the elderly gentleman. “But you will find there is more room in the other carriage with Sir Alfred. Would formal introductions help?”

  “No,” Tillie said baldly.

  “Yes,” Dove said. “I am entirely baffled by Sir Alfred’s presence.”

  “And I by yours, sir,” Sir Alfred said haughtily. “Be so good as to unhand my granddaughter.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Although Dove made no effort to release her, Tillie held onto his arm with both hands.

  “There is no need,” she said with equal hauteur. “I do not acknowledge the connection. And I would rather travel with you, Kate, if you won’t be too uncomfortable.”

  “Let’s at least walk up to the carriages,” Dove said, urging her forward. “It’s too cold to linger down here.” He turned and called a farewell after Alban’s retreating back and received a backhanded wave in return.

  Tillie all but dragged him onward, leading the way off the beach and up the path.

  “Slow down,” Dove said mildly. “There is no race here. So, Courtney is the grandfather who disowned your mother?”

  “He is. I am happy to reciprocate on her behalf.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Dove soothed. “Only…why is he here?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  “Not yet,” she said with difficulty. “I’m too angry.”

  “May I ask him?”

  “Hatton,” growled Sir Alfred behind them. “You may tell that encroaching officer it’s none of his business.”

  Tillie bristled with outrage, but Dove only grinned.

  “He won’t tell you anything in my presence,” Dove said. He took her hand. “It’s only a short journey to Blackhaven, an hour, no more. Why don’t you go with him? Let Kate be your chaperone.”

  “Actually, that’s a good idea,” Kate said. “Because that way, we’ll get a better view of Tris driving the cab.”

  Tillie gave a reluctant laugh. But she was even more reluctant to spend an hour in her grandfather’s company. She wanted to be with Dove and allow her happiness to blossom after their adventure. She didn’t want to be angry and resentful.

  But then, Sir Alfred’s very presence had already cut up her peace. She could not enjoy her happiness until this, too, was dealt with.

  “Would you mind accompanying me, Kate?” she said with difficulty.

  *

  Five minutes later, she was in a comfortable travelling coach with Kate and Sir Alfred Courtney. James sat up on the box beside the driver. She didn’t see who piled into the hired carriage, but as Kate promised, she did see Mr. Grant driving it, contriving to look at once quite at home and utterly incongruous in his evening dress.

  Smothering a giggle, she faced forward once more and regarded the stranger who was her maternal grandfather. Sir Alfred Courtney was certainly a distinguished looking man. She allowed him that much. But she did not care for the haughtiness in his eyes or the superior way he held his head, as though there were a bad smell directly under his aristocratic nose.

  “What did you wish to discuss with me, sir?” she asked coolly.

  “Your future,” he replied.

  “I don’t believe it is your concern, any more than my past was.”

  “You bear a grudge,” he observed. “Well, I don’t blame you for that.” He shifted with the first hint of discomfort Tillie had seen in him. “Let me say, I could have dealt better with your mother’s marriage. To help you understand, she was the apple of my eye, sweet and courteous, and never disobeyed me but once, and I was angry.”

  “Did her death anger you, too?” Tillie flung at him, for he had not even acknowledged her father’s note informing him of the tragedy.

  “No, it crushed me,” her grandfather said simply.

  “It crushed us, too. You did not even have to visit. A few lines would have comforted my father.” And me.

  The old man’s nostrils flared with distaste. “Your father’s comfort was never my concern.”

  “Clearly.”

  Her grandfather drew a deep breath. “However, I have been brought to believe that I was wrong to visit the sins of the mother upon the daughter.”

  “The sins were not hers but yours,” Tillie interrupted.

  Her grandfather smiled faintly. “You are loyal. That is a good Courtney trait.”

  Tillie stared at him in disbelief. “I am astonished to hear you say so.”


  He waved that aside. “I was spurred into action when I heard what your vile family was doing to you.”

  “How did you hear that?” Tillie demanded, frowning.

  “My grandson wrote to me, saying he was sure he had met you in Blackhaven and that your cousin was claiming to be your husband but that there was some doubt. And then some matter of a duel, which is unforgivable.”

  But Tillie had latched on to the beginning of his statement. “Your grandson? Who is your grandson?”

  “Anthony Blackshaw.”

  Her lips parted in wonder. “Anthony Blackshaw is my cousin? So that is why he acted for Luke against Dove! He thought there was some family connection…” She cast her grandfather a wintry smile. “Making up for your neglect, no doubt.”

  “No doubt,” her grandfather agreed just as coldly. “So that all explains why I am here, why I came via the vicarage and Mr. Winslow’s house to find you. We’ll say no more about this escapade.”

  “Agreed!”

  “For I have another proposal for you.”

  She cast him a wary glance. “You have?”

  “I will give you a dowry, acknowledge you as my granddaughter. You will be received everywhere.”

  “I sense a large if.”

  “There is no if. I will even find you a husband who is heir to a barony.”

  “I think that is the if,” Tillie said shrewdly. “Just for interest’s sake, do please tell me who you have in mind.”

  Her grandfather smiled faintly. “Why, your cousin, Anthony Blackshaw.”

  Tillie’s lips parted. Beside her, Kate inhaled sharply.

  Weirdly fascinated, Tillie asked, “Does Captain Blackshaw know?”

  “By the way he speaks of you, I know he will be happy to marry you,” her grandfather replied.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Tilly said. “However, I am obliged to you for your thoughtfulness, and to Captain Blackshaw for his amiability. Unfortunately, I cannot please you in this matter. I am engaged to marry Major Doverton.”